Choices
by WildMeiLing
Summary: Clarisse doesn't know when to quit. Joseph decides it's time to call it a night.


The day had been full and productive, with much running around. A brunch meeting, a dinner meeting, tea with a politician too insufferable for a meeting spanning an entire meal, a tour of the new primary school, and a reading session for the preschool crowd at the library. After all the hand-shaking, diplomatic table conversation, chitchat carefully worded to sound casual and easy, and a couple too many hours in very high - but gorgeous - heels, Clarisse decided there was something almost appealing about the idea of spending Friday night on the sofa in her suite with a sampling of the paperwork that had been ignored all day.

Now wearing slacks and a long-sleeved cotton shirt - and no shoes! - Clarisse picked up the stack of papers, sat down on the sofa, and tucked her feet up underneath her.

_Almost_ appealing. She sighed.

Tonight found Clarisse without her family. Pierre, who had officially abdicated the previous year, was studying in the seminary in Rome. Rupert had business out of town and would not return until Sunday evening. Philippe had accompanied him, dutiful in his royal apprenticeship after having been bumped into the position of crown prince. As the day wound down for servants and served alike, the palace was quiet and felt even more enormous than usual.

Clarisse sighed again, then slipped her reading glasses on and tackled the papers.

She had been immersed in frowning concentration for about ten minutes when she heard a knock on the door. Hopeful that it was someone bringing her tea, she called out, "Come in," without looking up.

The door opened and closed again. Quiet footsteps made their way into the room, stopping at the end of the sofa. Clarisse trudged through the last sentence of the paragraph she had been reading before looking up to see her visitor, who was, by this point she knew, not bringing her tea. And so the frown lingered, although the reason for it had changed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" her visitor questioned with - what was that Clarisse detected? Indignation?

"Joseph! What are you doing here?"

"More importantly, what are you doing here?" Yes. Mild, but definite indignation. He was in one of those moods, and probably here to irritate her, thereby making himself feel better.

"I do live here."

"It's Friday night, and you are cuddled up on an antique sofa with a stack of papers containing very small print."

"Yes, I know, I had to put my glasses on for it."

"You always have to put your glasses on, you just don't because you are vain."

"I suppose you have a reason for being here, perhaps you should get around to sharing it."

"It's very nice to see you, too. And I am well, thanks for asking."

Clarisse's eyes rolled entirely of their own volition; queens never roll their eyes deliberately. "I thought after today, all you wanted was - what was it? - a hot shower, a glass of whiskey, and the basketball game."

"I showered, I drank the whiskey, and I started watching the basketball game. Then I wondered if my Queen, who had the same exhausting day I did, but only worse because she had to pretend to like everyone in it, would be relaxing as well. I had a feeling you might not know a proper way to spend a Friday night. So -"

Joseph picked the papers up off her lap and dropped them with an impertinent smack onto the coffee table. Then he gently plucked her glasses off and laid them with considerably more care on top of the papers.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling it a night for you," he responded as he took hold of her hand and pulled her off the sofa.

"Where are we going?"

Without answering, he led her over to the corner where the oft-neglected television and much cozier furniture resided. He guided her in front of the couch, then placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her down.

"Joseph -" she started to protest, popping up from the couch.

"Sit," he said, pushing her back down.

She popped up again. "Joseph, I do not have time for whatever this is." The exasperation in her voice was undeniable. After all, he had broken her concentration, and there was no sign of tea coming any time soon.

Joseph pushed her down. "Last time," he warned, "do not get up again." He picked up the remote control to turn on the TV, then handed it to her; she took it automatically. "You are going to choose something to watch." He started to walk away, then paused to add a condition. "Not the news."

"Where are you going?" she demanded irritably. Surely, he knew she would not sit obediently if he left.

"I am going to raid your emergency wine supply while you choose a non-news program to watch."

"I don't have an emergency wine supply!"

He stopped at her bookshelves that lined nearly the entire length and height of the wall, and pulled on a shelf that swung out to reveal a hidden nook, just big enough for two wine bottles and two stacked glass tumblers. He selected one bottle and the two glasses quickly, then closed the hiding spot, careful not to jostle the books that were in motion while the shelf was settled back into place. He turned and grinned at her, brandishing the bottle of wine.

Clarisse stared at him in shock. "How did you -" Suddenly, her surprise shifted to anger. "Have you been spying on me?" she exclaimed, jerking her head toward the camera on the opposite wall as she kept her eyes on him. There were cameras all over her suite, but they were not usually monitored from the security hub, a small but much appreciated gesture designed to give her some modicum of privacy.

"I have not," he declared, coming back to the couch. He placed his pilfered items on the small table in front of them before pulling his Swiss army knife out of his pocket.

"Then how did you…?" she left the obvious question hanging as she watched him find the tool that would open the wine bottle.

He found it, expertly utilized it, and as he pulled out the cork with some effort, he said, "It's my job to know these things." He poured a generous amount of wine into each glass. He held out one to Clarisse, who sat stewing in a combination of irritation, amazement, and well-concealed gratitude. "You're not going to make this easy, I see." He flopped down on the couch next to her; pulled one of her arms away from her chest, where it had been defiantly crossed with the other; and pressed the glass into her empty hand. The other hand still held the remote.

He picked up the second glass for himself, then leaned back to see what was on TV. "This is a news show. I told you no news shows."

"This is what was on when you turned on the television. I haven't even bothered looking yet."

"You are a stubborn woman."

"You are a bossy man."

"I am not. Now give me the remote."

"See? Bossy!"

"I am being solicitous. You need a break." He started clicking through the channels.

She sighed impatiently - really, it was more of a harrumphing sound - and glanced at the screen. "There's nothing on! It's all a lot of rubbish anyway, and I have things to do." She was on her feet again, but in a flash he was in front of her, pushing her back into a seated position.

Leaning over her, his arms on the back of the couch on either side of her shoulders, he pinned her down without touching her. "When it comes to the safety and well-being of the Crown, I outrank you," he reminded her, a bit pompously, she thought. She glared at him, the bemused twinkling in his eyes only fueling her frustration. The mingled fragrance of soap and whiskey and, well, Joseph distracted her momentarily from her ire, and she made an effort to maintain her hold on it.

"Funny, I don't see any immediate threats. Oh, wait!" she exclaimed with as much sarcasm as she could muster. "Was it that document I was perusing? Were you worried it would inflict paper cuts on me?"

"Ha ha. I was referring, in this case, to your mental and emotional well-being. If you do not take a break occasionally, you will go mad, and you will be unfit to rule."

"Yes, because there have never been mad or unfit rulers."

"There have been plenty, obviously they had no one to vegetate with. If you would like to join their ranks, I can leave."

"No, no, don't bother. You've opened the wine, we might as well drink it." He slowly straightened up and smirked when she refused to make eye contact with him. She knew he was smirking, and she responded with looking severely put-out. "You're still not going to find anything worth watching."

Feeling confident she wasn't going to make a run for it, he reclaimed his glass from the table and his spot on the couch. "There are two things on right now that are worth watching. So you have two choices. This -" he switched to the basketball game.

"Oh, dear Lord, not this," she turned to look him fully in the face with a pleading expression. "If you're so intent on watching that game, why don't you go back to your own room and watch it on your own television?"

"Because I thought it might be nice to be sociable this evening. Which is why I'm willing to skip the game to watch this." He clicked to another channel, where young Dorothy was struggling to pull open the doors to the cellar as a tornado raged in the background.

"_The Wizard of Oz_?" Clarisse smiled. "What is this doing on?"

"It comes on once a year. Does it meet with Her Majesty's approval?"

"Yes. I think I can make time for this. And we haven't missed the best part yet."

"No, we're just in time, but barely. Any more resistance from you, and we would have been tuning in to see her arrive at the Emerald City."

"You find yourself very amusing, don't you?"

"Yes. Now," he said, clinking his glass with hers, "just watch already."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Joseph stole a surreptitious peek or two to see that Clarisse's shoulders had actually fallen away from their hunched position near her ears. From the way her features had begun to relax, he knew she was succumbing to the classic story line.

It wasn't until Dorothy was well on her way over the yellow brick road that Clarisse spoke again. "You know, there is a theory that this story was written as an expression of populist sentiments."

"Clarisse?"

"Yes?"

"Am I about to get a history lesson?"

"A political history lesson," Clarisse specified, the idea lighting her eyes and infusing her expression with an enthusiasm that Joseph found rather perverse. "American political history, which I confess, I find fascinating -"

"Clarisse?"

"Yes?"

"Stop talking."

Clarisse's mouth opened wordlessly, then shut again. She re-crossed her arms petulantly and, for added emphasis, her legs. She looked back at the movie.

Joseph studied her briefly, trying to determine if her stung look was the result of her previous bad attitude, or if he had actually hurt her feelings. He chuckled softly, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her toward him. He rested his mouth against the side of her head without kissing her, and through muffled, smiling lips, he said, "Right now, I just want to enjoy some rare alone time with Clarisse."

Her arms stayed where they were, but he felt her body soften slightly against his. "Fine," she said curtly. Ah, she was a stubborn woman!

He leaned back from her so he could look at her. "Don't you want to enjoy some Joseph time?" he asked, effecting a slightly injured tone.

"I would enjoy Joseph time a lot more if he would bring his own damn wine next time. For future reference, that's not just an emergency wine supply, it's a secret wine stash."

"What's the difference?"

"An emergency wine supply can include anything, as long as it's wine. That," she nodded her head toward the bottle on the table, "is a very expensive bottle of wine that I was saving for a special occasion."

"Perfect! It just so happens, this is a special occasion."

"It is?" Joseph's response caught her off guard, and she suddenly was wracking her brain. Was there a reason he was here that she should have thought of?

"It is," he assured her smugly. "It's 'Watch _The Wizard of Oz _With A Friend Night'."

The irrepressible eye roll again. He laughed at her, and she finally let herself laugh, too. She was happy, and it made him happy. She leaned her forehead against his and brought her hand to rest on his cheek. His heart stuttered.

"Thank you for making sure I celebrated 'Watch _The Wizard of Oz _With A Friend Night'."

"Thank you for supplying the wine."

She laughed again. They were finally both relaxed. She closed her eyes, keeping her head rested against his. He pulled his arm tighter around her, and her hand slid down to his shoulder. They were quiet and still for a few minutes.

Finally, Joseph cleared his throat. "You have two choices. This -" Joseph brought his other arm around so he could hold her face in his hand. "Which could lead to a breakdown of my willpower and result in my taking you on the couch, right here and now."

Clarisse's eyes flew open in surprise, but she didn't move. "What is the other choice?" she said, her voice husky.

"The movie," Joseph breathed.

"Hmm." Now they both closed their eyes, preparing for the moment when they would break apart and lose the contact they both so craved. "I suppose we had better get back to the movie then."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," murmured Joseph. He placed a soft, simple kiss on her forehead as they released their hold on each other. They settled back into their original side-by-side positions, breathing deeply, not trusting themselves to speak just yet.

After a time, they relaxed back into their camaraderie. The wine disappeared slowly; their conversation was light and filled with companionable silences. Joseph's arm even returned to rest around Clarisse's shoulders, neither one of them actually conscious of its happening.

Just before the movie was over, Joseph felt Clarisse's head slump toward him. He smiled at her drowsy form, and he took the empty glass from her hand and put it on the table. "Hey," he said softly. "You're not falling asleep, are you?"

Her head bobbed back up as she forced her eyes open. "No," she slurred. "I'm still awake."

He chuckled soundlessly. "I hope so. Sleep on your own time. This is Joe's time, remember?"

She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed again. "Mm-hmm. I remember. That's why I'm not sleeping."

Her head fell back toward him, and he tucked it under his chin. Clarisse, the love of his life, who just so happened to be a queen. A queen married to a king. And indeed, Rupert had not taken a wife, but a queen. No matter his genuine regard for her, Rupert had never loved her as a husband should love his wife; his years of infidelity were evidence of that. But for a queen to have an affair, to allow herself a relationship where she could finally love and be loved -

No, not tonight. He pushed away the bitter thoughts and chose to savor these last few moments of his evening with Clarisse. He waited until he knew she was on the verge of falling into deep sleep before whispering, "You know that I love you, don't you?"

She smiled in her sleep. "Yes."

"How do you know?"

"Because you've told me. And I remember."

He said nothing, only rubbed his hand up and down her arm.

"You know that I love you, too?"

"I do."

"How do you know?"

"Because you didn't banish me after I plundered your emergency wine supply."

"Waiting for you…" she trailed off, losing the thread of the conversation in her sleepy stupor.

"Waiting for me to what?" he prodded.

"To get tired of putting up with me."

"Not a chance, my love."

"I'm glad."

He was glad, too - glad she was asleep and couldn't see his eyes tear up. Glad he knew Clarisse the human being as well as Clarisse the queen. Glad he was the one entrusted to be her protector, a position he regarded more as a vocation, a calling, than a mere job. Gladness overwhelmed him sweetly and sadly, until a lump formed in his throat and an ache seized his core. He held her quietly, riding out the emotions.

At last, he stood, scooped her up in his arms, and carried her to bed. He relished the feel of her snuggling her head securely against his chest. He laid her gently on top of the covers. An afghan was folded and draped over the back of the overstuffed reading chair near the window. He walked around the foot of the bed to retrieve the blanket from the chair. He unfolded it and draped it over her as she turned onto her side and smiled, muttering something he couldn't understand. He watched her a moment before leaving her.

He walked back over to the couch. He used the remote to turn off the TV, then picked up the glasses. He would take them back to his room to wash them, and return them on another quiet night. He passed by the table where the pile of partially read papers resided, turning off lamps as he made his way to the door. It clicked into place behind him, closing him off from the woman who was his heart's true home.


End file.
